The Hope Chest

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  “Marry me.”

  She went utterly still. Her eyes widened. He couldn’t tell if her expression was surprised or horrified. Heart pounding, he said in a rush, “I know your family expects you to marry one of your four suitors, but I’ll speak to your father—”

  “All right.”

  “—I realize that the rumors surrounding me won’t endear me to either of your parents,” he rushed on, ignoring the panic nipping at him, determined to get out all the words necessary to convince her, “but if you’ll allow me to explain—”

  “There’s no need.”

  “Of course, I realize that the stigma of those rumors would attach itself to you and—”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I just simply cannot bear the thought of you being another man’s wife, of you sharing your life with someone else—”

  She touched her fingertips to his lips, ending his stream of words. “Neither can I.”

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, the words muffled beneath her fingers.

  “For a man who is normally so attentive, you’ve not heard a word I’ve said.” She cleared her throat, then said very slowly, very distinctly, “I agreed you should speak to my father. I assured you no explanation regarding those ridiculous rumors is necessary. No one who knows you could possibly place any credence in such ludicrous nonsense. And my darling Maxwell, after these past few moments, I know you very well. Not as well as I’d like to, but since you are a man of honor—not to mention great fortitude and willpower— I shall endeavor to wait until we’re properly wed before allowing you any further liberties with my person. And before taking any of my own liberties with yours.”

  He could only stare. Was he hearing what he thought he was hearing? And did she just wink at him?

  Before he could speak, she continued, “I’m not concerned about foolish rumors uttered by foolish people casting a shadow upon me. I can assure you it would be a very stupid person indeed who would dare to repeat such stories to me about my…husband.”

  “Your husband?”

  “Yes, my husband,” she said, her voice tinged with both amusement and impatience. “Unless you’ve changed your mind in the past two minutes?”

  “You’ll marry me?”

  She cocked a brow. “I’d planned to, but perhaps I’d best give it some more thought as it seems the intelligent man I fell in love with has been replaced with a slack-jawed individual who does not understand plain English—”

  Whatever else she might have said was lost as his mouth covered hers. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, unable to believe that she was going to be his wife. His.

  “Say it again,” he whispered against her lips.

  “Which part?”

  “All of it. No, that will take too long. I can make do with just the ‘fell in love’ and ‘my husband’ parts.”

  Her puff of laughter warmed his lips. Framing his face with her hands, she looked directly into his eyes. “I love you, Maxwell. With all my heart. You make me happy. I want you to be my husband.”

  He rested his forehead against hers and squeezed his eyes shut, welcoming the joy, basking in her words. Then he leaned back until he could see her eyes. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you in Gibson’s shop. I’m a man of science, yet there was nothing remotely scientific about my reaction to you. The way you made—make—me feel. As if I’d been wandering aimlessly for years and had finally come home. I’d lost my hopes, abandoned by dreams, until you came along and reawakened them.” He drew a deep breath, then said quietly, “I want to explain about my brother.”

  She feathered her fingers through his hair and shook her head. “It is not necessary, Maxwell. I know you did not harm him.”

  “And I cannot express how much your belief in me means. But I want to tell you. I need to tell you.”

  “Very well, I’m listening.”

  Maxwell pulled in a slow breath to prepare to tell her what he’d never told anyone. “I never refuted the rumors surrounding my brother’s death because I preferred to have people think the worst of me rather than tarnish Roland’s honor and reputation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The night of the accident, Roland and I had a terrible row. He was deep in his cups, as he always was, a situation that was growing steadily worse. Roland wasn’t a belligerent drunk, or one who kept a slovenly appearance or staggered about and fell down. He’d developed such a high tolerance for alcohol over the years that unless someone knew him well, they wouldn’t realize how much he’d been drinking. That night, however, he was in a rage. He’d just found out that his wife was expecting their first child.”

  “Surely that would be joyous news.”

  “Normally, yes. But Roland was convinced that the child wasn’t his. In truth, knowing Marianne, I wasn’t entirely convinced he was wrong in his suspicions.”

  “How awful.”

  “Yes, it was. I tried to reason with him, calm him, but he only grew increasingly agitated—and violent. When I attempted to subdue him, he ordered me to leave Dorsey Manor and never return. In the midst of our argument, through the window we noted Roland’s phaeton being brought ’round. Realizing Marianne was attempting to leave the estate, his fury erupted. He stormed from the room, and I ran after him. Marianne was just climbing onto the phaeton. Harsh words were exchanged. A scuffle ensued during which Roland hit me with the riding crop he’d wrested from Marianne.” He held up his hand and her gaze shifted to the scar on his finger. She gently touched the puckered skin.

  “I wondered how you’d gotten that.”

  “Roland whipped the horses, and took off as if pursued by the devil. I ran to the stables then gave chase with our fastest horse, but I was too late. The phaeton went over a cliff.” The image of the accident site, seared forever in his memory, flared in his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut to banish the horrible mental picture. “Servants had overheard our argument. Seen the tension between us. Heard Roland order me from the estate, then witnessed me chasing them. The rumors of murder started immediately, fueled by the fact that I secluded myself here at the estate.”

  “I’m so very sorry for all you’ve suffered. The pain and the loneliness.” She drew his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to the scar bisecting his finger. “But that’s in the past. The future is filled with love. And hope. You aren’t alone any more.”

  And with that simple gesture, those simple words, she eased his burden and lifted the dark curtain he’d lived behind for the past two years. “I love you, Amanda.”

  “I love you, too.” Mischief gleamed in her eyes. “Although I think I’ve forgotten how much. Would you care to refresh my memory?”

  “My darling Amanda. Nothing would give me more pleasure.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, Amanda could barely keep from skipping to the breakfast room in her happiness. After Maxwell had returned her home last evening, she’d thought surely the bright blush she knew stained her cheeks would alert Aunt Lydia before they could impart their happy news. Aunt Lydia had been delighted, and they’d all talked late into the night, making arrangements to travel back to London together so Maxwell could formally request her hand from her father.

  When she arrived in the foyer, she greeted Mortimer with a smile. “Good morning, Mortimer. Has my aunt come down to breakfast yet?”

  “Yes, Lady Amanda. She is in the drawing room with Lord and Lady Fenport.”

  Amanda blinked in confusion. “My parents are here?”

  “Yes. They arrived a few minutes ago.”

  “Th-thank you.” Her giddy joy replaced with concern, Amanda hurried into the corridor. What on earth would have induced her parents to travel all the way to Cardiff? She rushed through the first door, which led to the drawing room.

  Her mother was seated on the brocade settee, her skirts artfully arranged, her dark hair swept back from her face in a complicated coiffure. Her father stood with his elb
ow braced on the marble mantel. Aunt Lydia sat on the other settee. She appeared pale and offered Amanda a weak smile.

  “Mother, Father,” Amanda said, greeting each of them with a kiss. “I am so surprised you’re here. Is something wrong?”

  “Heavens, no, darling,” Mother said, shifting over a bit then patting the cushion next to her in invitation. “Everything is fine. In fact, everything is wonderful.”

  Relieved, but still confused, Amanda sat. Her mother leaned closer to her, then abruptly sat back, making the tsking noise that signaled her disapproval. “You’re freckled. Very poorly done of you, Amanda. Such blights upon your complexion never completely fade away.”

  “I’ll endeavor to remember that.” She cast a quick smile at her father. “What brings you to Cardiff?”

  “Why, you of course,” Mother said with a laugh. “Your father and I have the most fabulous news to impart, and we couldn’t wait another instant to tell you. Oh, I never should have agreed to let you be away for so long, not when such important matrimonial matters loomed on the horizon.”

  Amanda didn’t bother to remind her mother that the matrimonial matters looming on the horizon were exactly the reason she’d needed to get away. “Please, do not keep me in suspense. What is this news?”

  Mother reached out and clasped her hands. “You’re engaged, darling!”

  Amanda stared at her mother in stunned silence. She well knew Mother was a formidable force when it came to ferreting out information, but how on earth had she learned about Maxwell? Surely Aunt Lydia would not have told her before Amanda could do so herself. She cast a brief glance at Aunt Lydia who confirmed Amanda’s assessment with a nod. “How…how do you know?”

  Mother’s brows nearly disappeared into her hair-line. “How do I know? Why, because your father arranged it. After everything was settled, Lord Abbott stayed for tea, and we spent the most delightful afternoon.”

  “Lord Abbott?” Amanda’s gaze bounced between her parents. “What does he have to do with my being engaged?”

  Mother’s trill of laughter filled the air. “As he is your fiancé, I’d say he has everything to do with it.”

  It took Amanda a full ten seconds to find her voice. When she finally spoke, her voice shook with angry disbelief. “You arranged a betrothal between me and Lord Abbott behind my back? Without my permission?”

  “I’ll thank you not to speak to me in such a tone, Amanda,” Mother said sharply. “As for this being behind your back, you’re simply indulging in dramatics. Of the four suitors, it was obvious that Lord Abbott was the best choice, and he was growing extremely impatient. During your ill-conceived absence from Society, Lords Branton, Remington and Oxmoor all lavished their attentions on other young ladies, as I’d warned you they would. Your father and I were convinced that if we did not act immediately on your behalf, Lord Abbott’s interest would wander as well.”

  “I see. Well, as much as I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, I’m afraid you shall have to undo them.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Mother asked, frowning.

  “Whatever arrangements you made with Lord Abbott need to be unarranged. You granted me permission to come to Cardiff to decide upon a fiancé. I have done so, and the gentleman is not Lord Abbott.”

  Twin flags of color rose on Mother’s cheeks. “As I said, Amanda, I don’t believe Lords Branton, Remington, or Oxmoor are still interested—”

  “Nor did I decide upon any of them.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Mother asked.

  “It is not nonsense at all, Mother. You took it upon yourself to betroth me and it’s quite impossible as I am already betrothed. I met a gentleman here in Cardiff and I intend to marry him.”

  A combination of shock, horror and anger contorted her mother’s features. “Without consulting your father and I? Impossible. Who is this man?”

  “Maxwell Wolford, the Earl of Dorsey.”

  Amanda could almost see the wheels turning in her mother’s mind as she sifted through the mental files she kept on members of the peerage. Amanda didn’t doubt for a moment that her mother would have heard of Maxwell. When a horrified gasp escaped her mother, Amanda knew what was coming next.

  “Dear, God. He’s that reclusive man they call the Crazed Killer of Cardiff! The man who killed his brother in order to gain the title.” She arrowed an icy, accusing glare at Aunt Lydia. “How could you allow this to happen? How did she even come into contact with such a man?”

  “I met him in an antique shop in the village,” Amanda answered. “That dreadful name is nothing more than vicious gossip. Lord Dorsey has never hurt anyone.”

  Mother folded her hands in her lap. “Well, I don’t care, and it is completely immaterial as you shall have nothing further to do with the man.”

  “That will be quite difficult as I’m going to marry him.”

  “You shall do nothing of the sort. You will marry Lord Abbott, as your father and I have arranged.”

  “No. I am going to marry Lord Dorsey.” She lifted her chin. “I love him.”

  “Love?” her mother repeated in an incredulous voice. “Good heavens, Amanda, have I taught you nothing? Love has nothing to do with marriage. Lord Abbott is handsome, charming, titled and wealthy.”

  “Lord Dorsey is all those things plus he loves me.”

  “You barely know each other.”

  “We know each other very well, I assure you.”

  Her mother narrowed her eyes at Aunt Lydia. “How is it that they know each other very well?”

  Aunt Lydia hoisted her chin. “Lord Dorsey has spent every day with us. He is a delightful, thoughtful man who has been done a great disservice by the ugly and unsubstantiated rumors surrounding his brother’s death. He is a fine gentleman and he adores your daughter, as she adores him.”

  “So you encouraged this?” Mother asked frigidly.

  “I did nothing more than chaperone. Amanda is an intelligent woman, fully capable of deciding who she should marry.” Aunt Lydia smiled at her. “I’m very happy for you, my dear.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Lydia.”

  “There is nothing to be happy about,” Mother decreed, her voice seething with anger. She turned to her husband. “Reginald, you’ve not said a word through this entire debacle. Do something.”

  Amanda’s father cleared his throat. “I fear I must agree with your mother on this, Amanda. You’ve known this man less than a month. And given his sobriquet, I admit I’m concerned. Lord Abbott is a very good match for you.”

  Triumph flashed in her mother’s eyes, and Amanda felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. Her father, who normally always took her side in these altercations, had chosen a very poor time not to do so.

  She drew a deep, bracing breath, then said, very calmly, “I agree Lord Abbot is a good match, but for someone else. I am going to marry Lord Dorsey. Nothing shall deter me.”

  Her mother’s face turned a shade of crimson Amanda had never before seen. “If you do, you will bring shame and scandal upon this family.”

  “I don’t see how marrying a nobleman can do that. Our union will certainly bring no shame or scandal to me.”

  “Very well, Amanda” said Mother, “I don’t want to have to do this, but your willfulness leaves us with no other choice. If you marry him, you shall be disowned.”

  A shocked, heavy silence filled the air. Amanda slowly rose then walked toward her father who appeared frozen at the mantel. “You told me you wanted me to be happy, Father,” she said softly. “You gave me your word you would allow me to choose my own husband. I have, and I promise you on my life he is the finest of men.” She searched his pale face. “For this you would disown me?”

  Her father studied her for a long moment then shook his head. “No, my dear.” He clasped Amanda’s hand and turned toward his wife. “I most emphatically do not agree with you on this, madam. Our daughter, who will not be disowned under any circumstances, shall be permitted to marry this man she claims to lo
ve—provided that I am convinced of his worth and sincerity once I meet with him.”

  Amanda flung her arms around her father’s neck and hugged him tight. “Thank you, Father. You’ll be convinced, I swear it.”

  “I do not see what difference his worth or sincerity makes,” Mother said icily. “She has already been promised to Lord Abbott.”

  “An arrangement that can be gotten out of given the proper amount of compensation,” Father said with some steel in his voice. “Compensation which shall come directly from your jewelry allowance, madam.”

  Mother gasped, then fumbled vainly in her reticule for her handkerchief. Father slipped a square of linen from his pocket, then looked at Amanda and heaved a resigned sigh. “For all the dramatic crises in your mother’s life, you would think she’d take care to have a handkerchief at the ready.” He patted Amanda on the shoulder and smiled. “Now go and make arrangements for your young man to call so I may meet him and interrogate him in my fiercest manner.”

  After bestowing another kiss on his cheek, she blew a kiss to Aunt Lydia who returned the gesture, then hurried from the room, intending to write a note to Maxwell asking him to come as quickly as possible. When she saw Mortimer in the foyer, however, and saw the object he held, her footsteps faltered.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked, staring at the familiar glossy wooden box.

  “Lord Dorsey left it with me. He told me to give it to you.”

  She accepted the box from him. “When did he leave it here?”

  “Just a few minutes ago, Lady Amanda.”

  “Lord Dorsey is here?”

  “Not now. He left.” Mortimer cleared his throat. “I, um, believe he was distressed by the argu— I mean, conversation in the drawing room.”

  Amanda felt the blood drain from her face. “What exactly did he hear?”

  Mortimer shuffled his feet. “No one was trying to overhear, Lady Amanda. ’Tis just that the door was open, and well, no one was exactly whispering.”

  “I understand. Now what did he hear?”

  “That you were engaged to a Lord Abbott. And that you would be disowned if you didn’t marry him.”